


Frankly, my dear, we don't give a damn

by archea2



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean at Stanford, Exhibitionism, Humor, M/M, Public Sex, Romance, Sibling Incest, Stanford Era, Stanford University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 18:07:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13909383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archea2/pseuds/archea2
Summary: Original prompt: Dean and Sam are at college together, and are one day having sex in an empty classroom.But suddenly the bell rings and half a class walks in on them, naked and still coupled. It's crazy.It's one thing to see a student naked. Another thing having sex, and even more scandalous if it's gay sex. But with your brother? That's on a whole new level entirely.Word quickly travels through the student population about the Winchesters and what they were doing.For their part, Sam and Dean aren't ashamed at all. They refuse to feel ashamed of who they love and prove as much by having public sex where they know people will see them - in the locker room, on the grass outside, in the janitor's closet moaning so loud it's bound to draw attention.It's like giving the ultimate middle finger to everyone and their expectations. And they both find it incredibly kinky.





	Frankly, my dear, we don't give a damn

**Author's Note:**

> It's so rare to find a prompt for Dean at Stanford that I jumped on this one and took advantage of a pause to dash off a quickie. Also to try and stumble back into the writing saddle.:)

You'd think being a freshman at Stanford provides enough of a shock in the first place.

Okay, hazing is officially off the cards. But it's not all game nights and beer nights either, when it comes to fraternizing - some of those Alpha-Alpha groups are borderline kinky in their expectations. And there's the studying per se, which Tyson Brady thinks is right up the wazoo at times. Paper me this and paper me that, the moment the doors of Nerd Nation were closed upon them.  
  
Still. It's a bright new start, Brady's first step into the not-yet-troubled waters of adulthood, and he can - _could_ \- man up and weather the shock, if it were not for the Winchesters.  
  
Oh man. The Winchesters.  
  
He'd never have guessed. Take Sam, the Wincheskid: the dew still fresh on his tan, the darling of every classroom. Brady had pegged him as a class A poster kid - you know, mows the lawn at break of dawn, makes his dad proud on the football pitch, gives his girl feathery, Disney-approved pecks, cycles home, mows the lawn last thing at night. Would mow the main quad here if they let him, when he's not reaping every A this side of Academia.  
  
Yeah, right. Sam Winchester.  
  
Sam Winchester, who, three weeks into first term, is found naked and panting like a steam generator all over a naked dude. It's bad enough that Professor Stonehaught is the first to enter the classroom, and it's worse enough that the naked dude has his chest glued to the Stonehaught Desk, a historical relic of the John Smith era or about. But the worst enough? Comes when Brady yells "Winchester!" because he's as open-minded as the next dude, mind you, but he doesn't need an unspoilable view of Sam's butt first thing after cornflakes, and the glued naked dude turns his head and says, "Right here".  
  
Yeah. As in -

 

* * *

  
"So, his cousin?" Jess asks, still round-eyed but intent on getting her facts right - as if cousins made it less outrageous and more of a boys-will-be-boys hoopla. Brady has his doubts. He and his cousin Frank were best buds, and, sure, did a lot of crazy shit in their heyday. Still. There's raiding the toilet paper to build your Action Joes a rope, and there's smoking Aunt Edna's cactus flowers (he'll never hear the end of this one), but him doing Frank on a classroom rostrum? Never crossed either's mind.  
  
"Has to be. He's green-eyed," Becky says. "Not _one_ dimple on his butt cheeks. I rest my case."  
  
Jess's eyes open wider. "You got a peep at his butt?"  
  
Becky sucks on the tip of her pen dreamily, and Brady would sink to his knees in thanks for the visual if he wasn't dreading her next words.

"Less than two hours ago. He was banging Sam right in front of the Faculty Club."  
  
"Oh!" Jess murmurs, and then, because she's Jessica Moore and knows every part and parcel of campus, "well, that's where the lawn is best. Richer soil."  
  
"Can't say I paid much attention to the grass. Cousin Dean was... putting the inches into Winchester. Oh yeah."  
  
Brady makes a mental point of avoiding the Faculty Club - as do a number of his year peers. Sadly, the Winchesters' favoured rendez-vous that night is Sam's dorm hallway. Brady doesn't even make it to the showers.

 

* * *

  
  
It is when they are found sixty-nining with abandon in the locker room that things rev up. Half of the soccer team gathers in a picket line before Coach, who waves them off.  
  
"You guys spend all your time there naked," he says. "That's hardly complaint material. Besides, Sam's the best player I've had in decades. Will make us loud and proud this season, so it's not my business who gives him a pass meanwhile."  
  
Most of the picket bow to his wisdom, but some - including Brady - still decline to let their eyeballs take one for the team.  
  
"Look," he tells Sam when he can ambush him without Dean hanging about (or over) him for once. "I'm not a bigot. And I don't care what you're up to with your cuz -"  
  
"Bro," says Sam, and it doesn't sound like a term of address.

" _What?_ "  
  
"Present," says Dean, sticking a disheveled head between theirs and slapping his hand to the small of Brady's back. Brady jumps. "Brady Bunch here botherin' you, Sammy?"  
  
"No, no. I'm just dotting some of his i's for him." Sam shifts aside so Dean can step into the gap and twine their arms. "Dean's my elder brother. And my better half. _Highly_ significant other. Protector extraordinaire. He gave up everything to be here with me, so -"  
  
"Not a sacrifice," Dean says, low-key and throaty. It would be sweet, if a wolf's muted growl could be said to be sweet. "Where Sam goes, I go. What Sam wants gets the upper hand. Even Dad got the brief."  
  
"I love doing Dean," Sam explains simply. "Because" - the pre-Law boffin making his point clear - "I love Dean most. And Dean loves doing it in the open. He's a Wild West child with coyote-levels of stamina."  
  
Later, after Brady has finished pouring cold water over his heated face, he takes a good look at his mirror. The light is nearly gone and the yellow bathroom neons are kinda pinpointed in his eyes, unless it's the bong he's smoked. (Had to. His nerves are getting a hellride these days.) For one minute he feels dizzy and kinda chilly, but the next has him focused again.  
  
The Winchesters. He needs to - something or other.

Yeah.  
  
Starting with Dean.

 

* * *

  
  
But when he tries their door, left ajar for the entire Class of 2003 to dig the show, there's some weird-ass red pattern on the floor and another on the ceiling, and what the college cleaners think of that, he has no idea. Except for some reason he is really, truly reluctant to step in. And so Dean Winchester ends the night in his brother's arms, snoring away peacefully, until the early bird chirps in the dawn and it's time for an early morning blowjob.

 

* * *

  
  
"But, sir, it's all here! Penal Code Section 285!" Brady's voice is honed to a desperate pitch. Surely, the Dean of Law School _must_ have something to say?  
  
"I'm not sure I quite follow your drift, Mr Brady."  
  
"Incest!" Brady squeaks. "Sex with a close blood relative! _All over campus!_ "  
  
"Oh, yes," the Dean nods absently. "Quite, ah, unprecedented energy levels." His gaze comes to rest on Brady's sleepless, red-rimmed eyes. "Whereas you, young man..."  
  
This is a nightmare. He has to - _has to_ \- oust the Winchesters off campus. If not, how can he burn Dean Winchester on the next ceiling and effectively traumatize Sam?  
  
(Wait, what?)  
  
"Their father gave me a call, too," the Dean muses aloud. "More bark than bite, these paterfamilias types. Told the man we were all delighted to have Sam and Dean with us. They'd have made the Greek Olympics proud, I told him. Repeatedly. Now, was there anything else you wanted to see me about?"

 

* * *

  

"You're wasting your time, you know."  
  
Sam's eyes remain their fawn-in-the-dew selves, but his voice has an iron grip to it.  
  
"What d'you mean?" Brady, exhausted beyond belief, has to clutch at the speaker's shoulder. It moves back and forth, a lazy, sultry motion as Sam pushes himself into the tender gap between Dean's thighs, their four hands braced on the Humanities building's north wall. It's Thanksgiving Day, with the wind sharper already, but the Winchesters look like they are used to much lower temperatures.  
  
"Our Uncle Bobby drove us here on Orientation Day. Got the lie of the land himself." Sam pauses to kiss the sweat-drenched back of Dean's neck; takes up his rocking motion again.  
  
"What the man... don't know about spells... ain't worth knowing," Dean says between puffs of breath. "Christ, Sammy, _yeah!_ ".  
  
"Coming for me, big boy?" And Sam lurches forward, shaking Brady loose so he can wrap an arm - and hand - around Dean's recto. "Where was I? Oh yeah. Uncle Bobby. Got the whole campus covered - hex bags, impunity spells, the works."  
  
"With a four-year guarantee. Long enough for my boy here to get a full ride, and then we'll get a refill. Right, baby?"  
  
"Only if you like it in California."  
  
"Sure do. Land of pie and opportunity. Might get my name on the wrestling roster next year, who knows?"  
  
"But the _job_!" Brady is weeping openly now. "Your calling! The family business! Saving people!"  
  
"Come back in four years," Sam says, his butt on speed dial. Its audience appeal is still undimmed: Brady can hear the first appreciative whistles in his back.  
  
"Or don't," Dean says. "It's all the same to us. Hey, Sammy, wanna try the janitor's closet tonight? He's got cola-flavored condoms."  
  
"Nah, let's save it for our sophomore year," Sam says, and Brady, before he turns his defeated back on them, catches his final, floating words. "But I'm game for the Diné Club if you are."


End file.
